


The Artist

by LadyTineapple



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Kidlock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTineapple/pseuds/LadyTineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years ago, in a dark night, only lit by the moon which shone bright from the sky, an elderly man quietly walked through the streets of his neighborhood. Everything was quiet, apart from his steps, slapping on the stone. Unlike most people, walking around at that time, he was not the slightest bit scared of being attacked, for it was a quiet neighborhood, habituated by righteous people, young parents with small children and old people, mainly. Crimes were rare in this area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Artist

Many years ago, in a dark night, only lit by the moon which shone bright from the sky, an elderly man quietly walked through the streets of his neighborhood. Everything was quiet, apart from his steps, slapping on the stone. Unlike most people, walking around at that time, he was not the slightest bit scared of being attacked, for it was a quiet neighborhood, habituated by righteous people, young parents with small children and old people, mainly. Crimes were rare in this area.

This particular man had, in fact, only known of one time during the past few years in which someone he knew had been harmed, and that was a young boy called Carl Powers. He had been a nice boy, everyone around agreed. A charming, very skilled and ambitious kid, who had great things in his future. Sadly, he never got the chance to achieve what he was meant to do. Everyone who knew him had been very touched by the tragedy of his death.

Officially it had been a tragic accident, a malfunction of Carl’s own body, which many people happily believed, but a few people believed that somebody had purposely done that to him, despite the results of the autopsy.

Yet, it happened far away from his home. He had gone to another, bigger city to compete in a contest and there it happened. If somebody had caused what happened to Carl, it had been somebody from there, as nobody who had known him would have done something like that.

Nobody except, maybe, one kid, the man thought, but immediately shook his head, realising how horrible it was of him to think of something like that.

They might not have been friends, some would even go so far as to call them enemies, but it was impossible. Even though he was a very bright kid and sometimes scared even the adults, he would never go that far. It was impossible.

A big cloud covered the moon for a moment, leaving the old man in complete darkness, unable to even see his own feet. When the cloud had passed and the streets were enlightened by the moon again, he saw a small figure not far from him. It was almost impossible to make out, standing in the shadows, but he had the feeling that a frightening atmosphere came from it.

“Who is there?” he asked, trying to keep his voice firm and swallow his own fear.

The body stepped out from the shadows, calmly and threateningly, slowly revealing pale skin. “Good evening, Mister,” the boy said in his high, but soft voice. “Nice night for a walk, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Jim,” the man laughed excitedly. “You scared me there for a second.” He could feel absolute horror spreading in his body, without the slightest idea why. Jim Moriarty was only a child. An odd child, who was too clever for his age, but a child nevertheless.

Jim smiled mechanically at him for several seconds. “I asked you a question,” he then said firmly, his face suddenly very serious, almost angry.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, blinking at the kid. “What was it again?”

Rolling his eyes, Jim sighed heavily. “You are an idiot,” he stated. “Why do people even keep up with you?”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” the older asked angrily. “You can’t talk to elders like that. You are only a child–”

“And you are only an old man,” Jim interrupted him. “An old, stupid man with no family and no friends. You are lonely and old. A waste of space, if you ask me.”

“I don’t,” he said, equally irritated and hurt by the younger’s remarks. “What you are saying there is not true. Who do you even think you are?”

“Me? I am a genius!” Jim said with the hint of a smile returning to his face. “Unlike you, I can do something. I can create and destroy.”

“You are out of your mind,” the old man said with a frown. “Go home! This is no time for children to be up.”

Jim’s smile faded and his face took a grim expression. “Nobody would miss you, you know,” he said slowly. “If you were to die. Nobody would miss you. Maybe they would not even notice.” 

“Why are you saying these things?” the older asked, his heart beating far too fast. What was it around this child that made him so scared? Any other child, he would simply have picked up and dragged home or spanked for saying something like this, but with Jim he did not dare to. He hardly dared going anywhere near him.

“You think I killed Carl, don’t you?” Jim asked, tilting his head and the smile slowly returning. “And now you are scared of me. Or is it the other way around?”

“I–” the older began, but cut off. The surprise and embarrassment to have suspected a child, mixed with his fear seemed to tighten his throat until he was unable to speak.

“Having a hard time speaking?” Jim asked, his smile growing wider. “I wonder why that is.”

“What have you done?” he croaked as it got harder for him to breathe.

“You think I did this?” Jim asked, pretending to be offended for a moment, before smiling widely again. “No, no. I am only a child, remember? I could never do something to you, who is so much older and wiser.” He quietly chuckled as the man clutched his chest, desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Everyone will know,” he said, already in so much pain that it was almost impossible for him to speak.

“No, they won’t,” Jim said shaking his head. “You are old! Old people die all the time of heart-attacks, cancer, strokes or just fucking old-age. Nobody will be surprised to find you dead as long as there are no obvious injuries. And even if they did, who would possibly suspect me? You said it, I’m only a child.” He slowly shook his head, as the older sank onto his knees, desperately gasping for air.

“They did not find out I killed Carl,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, almost careless, but for a second, something like sadness seemed to shine through his eyes. It was gone immediately and replaced by an almost proud look on his face “They certainly won’t suspect that I killed you. Rightly so. Usually, I would even say that you are not worth it. You are not worth my time and energy, because I am far greater than you. But that is the trick you see.”

The old man curled up on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes and his mouth open in a silent scream. Despite everything, he stretched his hand out to Jim, begging him to have mercy, but the kid only held his cold gaze fixed upon him. The closer the man came to death, however, the more life came into Jim’s eyes. Slowly they changed from cold and expressionless to angry but joyful, until every bit of life had left the older’s body and Jim stood with a pleased smile, enjoying the image that he had created.

He truly was an artist, Jim thought, if he could create something so beautiful. He could create out of mere destruction and even force emotions from others with his art. Jim knew that he could be successful with it. He knew that his creations would be famous, one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely sure about the rating, so feel free to let me know if you know better.  
> As usual beta'd by Emma.


End file.
